Backdoor into my heart
by Kilameida
Summary: In which YOU, a summoner-in-training, finds a mortally wounded fox and nurses her to health. And who knows? Maybe you'll do a lot more. Maybe she'll fall in love with you. Maybe she'll burn you to the ground. Do you know?
1. Chapter 1

Backdoor Into My Heart

Hi.

I'm me.

I'm going to tell you a story that you've forgot.

What? You didn't forget? Well screw that just read this thing.

... please? == an author in desperate need of proof to his parents that he's DOING SOMETHING

* * *

><p>Humans are human-shaped for a reason. These reasons are unknown, because the Creator had said: "Let there be humans." And there were humans, standing around with arms and legs and a head in the shape that can only be called Human, and it was then ever since. The theory of evolution attempted to explain that we are human-shaped because we evolved into it, but exactly <em>why<em> do humans need to have opposable thumbs were never explained, or why wouldn't it work if we were, say, a completely different shape.

Nevertheless there were certain significant… differences, so to speak, between being a human and being a fox. A human views the world differently from a fox. For one, a human can't view the world from around five inches off the ground and smell his way around, he definitely couldn't see the glowing trails of scent or the vibrations that rabbits or other foxes or even humans give off. Humans, instead, rely on their eyes so much, that they often fail to – oh.

Well, of course she'd trip over that branch that was hidden underneath the bush. Of course she'd fall on the one armed foxtrap that was left behind in this forest. Of course she'd scream in pain and attract attention from all over the woods.

She really loves her form, she does, but some things would be a lot easier, although admittedly, a lot more painful and threateningly fatal, as a fox.

She glanced at her arm, then at the gaping mess that was her belly. That's just one more injury to add to the list, then.

She dragged herself towards the distant opening in the trees, towards the small hut in the distance. She would scream, but if there was something about the human body that she'd fine remarkable, is the fact that the brain, which appears to be able to ignore and completely shut down organs that were screaming in pain at it.

Foxes were so much more sensible. If a leg hurts, it stays hurt to remind them that they shouldn't be _that _bloody damn stupid, and also to remind them that you're going to die since you can't hunt.

* * *

><p>You'd wake up. You really would.<p>

But hot _damn_, who'd want to wake up after a dream like that?

It was an amazing dream. It was an incredible dream. It's like you were fighting god-like entities whose forms you really can't quite remember – you put it down to the fact that you'll keep forgetting the tiny details in dreams, and they'll fade away entirely over time – and there were hot girls around you fighting with you, and you were throwing stars and everything –

But you know that as the day wears on, you'd forget. See, you're already forgetting the faces of the girls now. Dammit.

Still, the covers are very, _very_ comfortable, and most of the work that you'll be doing happens at night anyways. You might as well sleep again, aren't you right?

Yes, you thought. Of course I'm right.

So you turned over, trying to find a more comfortable position in which to sleep in, when you hear a scraping noise.

No, not really a scraping noise. It's more of a _dragging_ noise. Granted, you don't really hear something being dragged, but whatever the object was, it was clear that it was scraping dirt and grass off your front yard. It's not exactly your front yard – when you're living in a circular clearing in the middle of a forest, you don't really have a front yard, and given that you're only borrowing the house until the Demacians will allow you passage over the Great Barrier, even if this house had a front yard, it wouldn't be yours, per se.

You're going off on a tangent again, and you made a mental note to fix that. You also made a mental note to try and check whatever the dragging noise is, but the charm of the warm and soft bed is so powerful…

There was a knock on your – the house owner's – well, temporarily yours – backdoor. It leads into the kitchen, and it's the door you use when you need to throw away trash.

This is odd, because the back door must have been dirty. It would be the kind of back door that was, despite belonging in a house situated in the middle of a clearing, clearly said that 'this is the back of the house' due to the lingering pieces of wood, fruit skins, and the occasional garbage that fell out of the trash bag when he was taking it out. It was near the compost heap, for god's sake. Why would anyone knock there? Why would anyone with a sense of hygiene knock _there_?

Your curiosity engaged in mortal combat with your sleepiness and won in not only a curbstomp but also a boulder-stomp and possibly a castle-stomp, because your curiosity coupled with boredom by being held up by Demacian customs for so long could very likely move castles. You rushed out half-naked, because that's how you sleep. Besides, people said that they didn't really mind watching you half-naked. You kind of wonder why's would that be. Shouldn't half-naked people be against the law or something?

Whatever, you think. You're very, very _befuddled_ about the state of, well, everything. You just woke up and you can't really think straight, and due to chasing this line of thinking down, you forgot what law was it you were thinking about. Was it the law on sleeping? No, was it the law on beautiful women? Staggering to your feet and swaying like a drunk, you try to think about things and put them into order, and wish you didn't, because you stood up too fast, causing your vision to scatter into black.

When they came back again, in little dots, you have already crashed into your back door. You don't really know why you're in the back door. What were you here for again? Gardening? Oh, wait, maybe you were trying to throw out last night's trash. God, you are _so_ sleepy.

You stagger forwards into the door, and tried not to stagger again, because god, that _hurts_. Have to make it open outwards sometimes, but that makes it easier for you to go out half-naked and break that lawy thing and – you probably should think a little.

Whatever was the law on half-naked things, you stepped backwards and dragged the door open, and you saw a bundle of red and white fur on your feet.

Fur was probably the wrong word to describe it. To call it fur would be to compare, nay, _equate _it to other pelts that came from similar animal. This is the kind of fur with gloss even before it was treated. It shined. It glistened. It was the kind of smooth that made you feel the _fluff_ of it even before you touched it.

Whoever was wearing all that fur must've been rich as all hell.

It was also wet and red, and you snap out of your hazy, sleepy stupor as you smell rust-like liquid in the air. Or at least you tried to, because your body is refusing to keep up with your mind, and so you still feel a little fuzzy and sick.

You threw up, barely missing the unmoving pile.

It could be a dead body. It could be a person, underneath all that fur, and that person has got to be a woman, because men simply don't have legs that was _that_ hairless, and most _definitely_ not _that _perfectly rounded. Also, her sleeves have embroidered dragon-like designs on them that were tattered but reveals a very definitely feminine arm underneath it.

It still could be a guy. God knows how many south Demacian celebrities were camp as all hell.

But then you noticed that there were welts on the person's arms, and you suddenly remember, again, the rust-like smell in the air _that was most definitely not stopping and means that this person is very much alive, although probably for not much longer if you keep fucking around like this._

"Crap. Crap. Are you o-"

But she's not okay, is she? You'd have to be dumb to ask the question. You also decide to call this person a she, because even if she turns out to be a very effeminate male, that male deserves a decidedly more feminine pronoun.

So grabbed her by the legs, dragged her inside, and closed the door behind her.

* * *

><p>The first thing that you did was to try and lift her onto your bed, and you found that she was gushing more blood than most humans could ever hope to generate in their lives, and on top of that, she's squirming feverishly as well.<p>

You thought that your mind was probably exaggerating, in all this confusing haze, but hey – if you can't believe your eyes, who can you believe?

You're going to need a better way to do this. So you gently, gently lay her down on the floor, and took some of your clean shirts – because obviously, dirty laundry would just infect the wound – and then gingerly moved the fur aside. It was actually a rather tall order, because she kept squirming, and – even though you couldn't see her face – you thought that she was slipping in and out of consciousness, because she seems to both be going prone and trying to get away from you, alternately.

All this damn fur is covering her. You really should take the stupid coat off as soon as you can, but first things first: treat her probably fatal wound. And to do that, you need her on the bed. But since you can't, you're going to have to do the best you can on the floor next to your bed.

You're very sure this is proper medical procedure, but it's a bit difficult to think when you're panicking like this, isn't it?

So as gently as you can, you try to force your way through the tails in order to get to her face and main body and find the source of bleeding.

You the realize, right before you dive into the fluffy ball, that you don't really have anything to stem the bleeding _with_, so you grab some clean shirts that were off the laundry and bound them, after some difficulty, into a strip of cloth that could function as a makeshift bandage.

By the time you were finished – because, and let's be honest, you've never actually tied together a bandage, or any sort of rope with two shirts before – she had already gone prone again, and it didn't look like she's going to regain half-consciousness anytime soon. This should be your chance.

Taking a deep breath, because you should never try to fix someone's wounds while panicking, you took handfuls of the fur and yanked, then winced, because that is one damn heavy fur coat. You try to yank it off again, but after thinking about it, it's likely that her body's weight is resting on it. Working quickly, you flip her so that her legs are, more or less, lying upright on the floor, meaning that she's probably also lying upright.

You work on getting rid of her fur coat, but then you realized some things. That it is, in fact, not a coat, but a scarf. And that it was an unnecessarily long scarf – either that, or it was more than a single scarf. Who would wear this many scarves? And despite the urgency of the situation, you can't help but marvel again at the velvet texture of the scarf – coat – furry _thing_ that was covering her body. She must be rich as hell.

You give up on trying to take the coat – scarf thing off her, and instead tried to shift the thing aside. You definitely have wasted too much time on trying to take it off her. She couldn't have that much time left.

And the more you shift the fur apart, the more you discover that it wasn't a coat or a scarf at all. As you grabbed a handful, it became more and more apparent that they were more tail-like in nature. There was heat emanating off the tail, and a level of flexibility that suggests the presence of muscle inside, the same way a fox's tail would feel. But that fact isn't really registering in your brain at the moment.

That's because you finally managed to force a gap between the furs – no, are they probably tails? Regardless, you finally got a glimpse of your patient's face and body.

And gasped.

The first thing that you register is that she is, no matter how you look at it, _beautiful_. Despite the fast-drying clusters of blood splattered all over her face, her beautiful pearlescent skin glistened unnaturally, and there was a certain angular, sharp quality to her face that give her the appearance of what can only be described as royal. Despite how messy her hair is, none of the strands were tangled together – that is, even though she looks like a person that barely survived a ship in a storm, not a single strand of her hair became twisted and angular. Each strand retained a sort of glossy look about it, even though they seem to be going in all sorts of different directions at once.

There were parallel lines from the edges of her jaw angling towards her face, like whiskers from a fox, but they were smudged under scratches and several bruises. In fact, you manage to stop gawking at her – _oh gods, she's beautiful_ – face for a moment to pry open the fur-tail-thing that was covering the rest of her body to find that she has practically no stomach.

It also complicates things a little to find that she was wearing more red than anything else, because her blood and the red tattered garments makes it difficult to discern where the wound stops and where the clothing begins. Still though, it was far worse than what your little tourniquet was equipped to handle – you could see dark blue bruises and jagged cuts in areas where the tattered remains of her clothing couldn't cover.

You tried _very_ hard to not puke. You could see some of her _organs_. Beautiful is beautiful, but you never really signed up for this gore stuff, and… argh…

A feeling as if your stomach was crawling your way up your mouth passed, and you felt something very warm and sticky crawl out of your mouth. Your hand feels like it was dipped in acid, and your throat burns, but none of the vomit made it on top of your patient, so you sigh in relief. At least, you tried to. You feel so light-headed that you probably just vomited a little bit more on the floor.

It surprised you that you were relatively calm, and judging by your thought processes, slightly snarky, but you suppose that for some people, the panic settles in later, and you resort to being numb first.

Well, it can't be helped, could it? You're gonna have to resort to doing _that_.

You quickly run over to one of your shelves and took out _The Codex of Reginald Ashram, _all two thousand pages of it, and cursed very loudly as your still-disoriented body – first from sleep, now from panic – dropped it on your foot.

"FEAAAAAAARGH."

That's going to hurt for days, you thought angrily, but the pain was muted. Truly, the human body can choose to ignore practically everything. You flip the book open on the floor and found the spell for healing.

As a summoner-in-training, you could at least do a basic, level one spell.

But without the energy of the institute to back up your heal, you're going to need…

Oh, who gives a fuck. Lives are in _danger_ here. Which very well could deserve the plural form that you gave it, because if you mess up _this_ next spell…

You breathe in, and close your eyes. There was darkness.

A green light erupted into existence in the darkness. It was a tiny speck, more or less a firefly hovering in the abyss, but then a second one blinked into existence.

Then four.

Then eight, sixty-four, hundreds, more than you can count – but it never reached the thousands. This is because you were looking at the life energies of living things, the part that made them tick and move. You saw yourself, a tiny dot next to an enormous green star, and you realize with a shock that it was the woman's life force. It was massive, as if it was an essence of multiple living things.

It was also draining out quickly. As you concentrate to find more life force, you saw its size diminish by half, and then even _that_ halved itself. She was bleeding out of life, quickly.

So you concentrated. A knot formed on your head.

God, you'd _better_ not fuck this up.

Suddenly, all the other small green dots of life vanished – no, not vanished. Rather, they blurred towards your current location, each becoming a streak of green. Leaves withered. Grass simply vanished without a trace. Insects just curled up and died.

_I'm sorry, I'm sorry…_

You opened your eyes.

Green light swirled, no, _sloshed_ between your palms. It grew brightly, vividly, and you slam it down on the chest of the most beautiful woman you've ever seen –

Then the world went black for you.

* * *

><p>The first thing that you thought about when waking up is that you were grateful that you managed to not die. You always had problems with the targeting bit – which bit of life force to take out, from where, and everything else, and you always seem to bite out a lot more from yourself than from anywhere else. To put it simply:<p>

You want to feel your arms, but they're more or less dead, and so is your legs, because there's simply no more life energy in them.

The second thing that you thought about was about how soft your pillow is. And warm. And… how… dynamic it is?

Are pillows meant to go up and down like this?

And now that you think about it, while you can't really feel your arms or your legs, you know that your body is, in somewhat of an upright position. You can also feel, in a pins-and-needles kinds of way, that your legs are somewhere folded up underneath your buttocks.

You open your eyes, or tried to. But all you're seeing is darkness.

You were looking at hair. Not your hair. Your hair isn't this long, isn't this glossy-smooth, and importantly, doesn't _smell_ this nice. Oh, sure, it belonged to a woman that just dragged herself through an entire forest, probably crossing paths with more than one excrement, piss, goo, and just general slime-ooze things that you don't really have words for, but you can't really smell that. All you smell is the scen-

Wait another minute. Woman?

With great force of will you _forced_ your hands out of their numb paralysis and wiped your face of all the hair strands. You stare down the remains of a ripped _kimono_ – that is, an old Ionian dress – and looked at a pair of beautiful legs, both inert and unmoving. You could see slender thighs, and a perfectly sculpted stomach – not anorexic, not plump, but achieving a perfect balance between fat and muscle and slenderness that most women would have murdered for. You stare at it for a while, trying not to drool, but your lack of energy meant that you did anyways.

The offending liquid travelled down between two mounds of fles-

_You're lying down on her breasts._

You automatically cringe, but it appears that the divine slap of retribution would be withheld, mainly due to the fact that your patient is still unconscious. You _want_ to move away from her breasts, for the sake of politeness, decency, and the fact that someone would probably be along soon to investigate and _then _he'd be in deep shit and deep rumor.

But hey. It's soft, it's warm, and it's many billion times better than what you imagine breasts to have been.

So you fake your exhaustion for a few more minutes. Just a few more minutes.

Then, reluctantly, you slide off her, and you fell asleep – no, fainted - on the floor. The unused bandage became your pillow.

* * *

><p>The little vixen smiled. What a cute little boy, she thought faintly.<p>

He also saved my life. And it's not like _I _mind… well… that.

Then, due to exhaustion, she, too, fainted.

* * *

><p>You wake up with a crystal clear mind. It's always like this, after you faint – you wake up knowing <em>exactly<em> when you fell asleep, and then wake up with a pounding headache – and yet, your mind goes hyperactive. Absorbing all the details that you missed. You're really not sure why, it just happened.

And what it absorbed was this:

It was night already. There goes your lunch and your breakfast, although, to be fair, you really couldn't do much to make it at the moment. That's because your room is a mess. Tree roots were growing out of your bookshelves and wooden kitchen counters, and some of the books fell over. The apples appears to be growing roots as well, and your sofa –

Giant-sized moths. Again.

You really should work on your targeting.

Whatever. You'll clear that later in the morning.

Right now, you're more concerned about your sleeping patient, but you don't really feel like moving from your sitting position. It's very comfortable.

_She was dying_.

That was what jolted you into full remembrance. You stood up in a rush and –

Found a beautiful girl lying down, very nearly naked, on your bed.

You can't really blame her for being naked. She seemed like she's been through hell. Despite the absence of a gaping, gigantic wound, your spell did not fix the various cuts and bruises that she suffered throughout her entire skin. Thankfully most appear to be surface wounds and superficial, and most have already formed scabs over the wounds. However, she'll be covered in that for several weeks. Her face when you found her – _no, don't get distracted by her beauty_ – okay, so her face when you found her was a rictus of pain. Now, it was the face of a sleeping lady, if that lady happened to be a goddess, and that goddess happened to have fox ears.

You touched them experimentally, and she twitched in her sleep. Strange, but not as strange as the other part of her body.

The strange part was, of course, her nine tails. Snow-white is the wrong color – perhaps a little bit more towards gray – but it was still a pure color, primal in its purity. It was as if the tails themselves have spirit inside of them, a life-force that you were unaware of. Was it what was keeping her alive?

You've heard the tales, of course. A beautiful fox-girl that was roaming Demacia, and seducing men left and right and draining them of their life-force. It could explain why she was being chased. It could explain why she had nine, extremely beautiful and… okay, you touched a tail. It was cold, but it was fluffy, and felt like touching fur in cold weather: freezing with a hint of warmth in it.

Wait a minute.

Hurriedly, you touch yourself, and realize that you feel like you're _freezing_. You glanced at her.

God, she could be getting hypothermia right now.

You drew the covers over her and hurriedly found some clothes, because you haven't been in a shirt since yesterday morning. Just as you drew the covers over her, you gently stopped and hesitated.

Exactly _how_ much trouble would you get into when you hide a clearly marked-for-death fox-girl? You don't really know, but you are an HONORABLE summoner-in-training and you would be damned if you leave a girl to die, past murders or not.

So you leave to buy yourself some _very_ late lunch. You'll deal with the goddamn living living room later.

* * *

><p>Walking towards town on an empty stomach was a horrible idea, but it was an even worse one to leave a girl half-naked in a chilly night when she may or may not be terminally ill. Besides, at least you got some food there. You hoped that you got the right sizes for her.<p>

Girls can get _very_ stroppy with you if you buy them too big OR too small.

You also bought an extra blanket. Two of them, in fact. You need one for you, and you also need one more just in case she gets cold, although considering all of the fur on her, she shouldn't really have problems with that. With high spirits, you march on home.

Next thing that you do, as soon as you get home, is to reach into your shopping bag and pick out some Piltoverf Soup. It's apparently a thing in Piltover, where you simply boil water and pour the contents of the packet into a bowl, then add the water to make instant, warm, delicious –

Soup.

Not sure _what_ kind of soup, though. This one says tomato.

Whatever. You're pretty sure that she needs food, warm food at that, and since you totally fucked up the life distribution process in your spell, your entire kitchen became unusable. At least her major wounds are gone. To be honest, that was the first time a heal spell went so well. Must be that life-and-death thing settling in.

You knock on your front door, out of principle, before entering your own house.

Now that you thought about it, your – at least, your _rented_ – house is actually pretty small. It's literally a living room with a kitchen in the back and a bed on the side. A bookshelf sits opposite of the kitchen, and it's filled with summoning books, spells, books about past summoners, about the legendary heroes of Runeterra…

Well, that's pretty much it. It's a temporary residence, after all.

Your bed is going to be a problem though. Sleeping on the floor was _very_ uncomfortable, fainting or not, and there's no way you're bunking next to girl, a sick one at that –

_No matter how sexy and beautiful she is_ –

Besides, it's really, really disrespectful. Maybe. What do you know? You're 17 and you're more or less the type that studies all day to become a summoner. Do girls do that? People keep asking you out, but you've always turned them down, because honestly, there's no way in seven hells you're going to be good enough for them. You're clumsy, dumb, and – well, generally living trash, aren't you? Look at your living room. That was just from one spell.

Sighing – because really, there's no way you're going to be able to work with your living room kitchen thing, because it is now, in fact, living, due to the fallout and bad accuracy when you cast that heal spell, you set to work on boiling water with magic. Then stopped. That would probably cause the rest of the house to go on fire.

You instead cut off some of the sprawling roots and built a small fire outside of your house. The wind was chilly, and you hope that the insulation that the house naturally provides would stop the girl from catching a cold.

It was really hard to keep your mind from not straying to the girl, and the fact that she is your guest is only half of the reason why. You suspect that this is what a 'crush' feels like.

Whatever. Feelings aside, you have to make sure that she's healthy enough to do… well…

You don't really know what she's up to. She could be running from authorities, and she could have been on the run from murders, like the rumors say, and who knows – maybe you're the one about to get murdered. But those kinds of thoughts, you reflect, ultimately don't exist in your mind, because this is your patient – your guest – well, whatever you call her exactly. She is under _your_ custody and fugitive or not you're damn sure making sure that she'll come out of it alive.

You thought all of that as you were making the fire. Then, you took out a small tripod – standard summoning stuff – and boiled water atop it. That should take around fifteen minutes, considering the amount of water that you put in.

You then proceed inside, and hope that the wind wouldn't blow the fire the wrong way, or extinguish it, or make the water topple over, and then you rushed out and took some precautions, like stabilizing the tripod with rocks and books and stuff, before you went back inside.

Inside, you took out the clothes that you got for your patient. The vendor called it a _hanbok_, another ancient Ionian clothing, except that this one was a bit more… modernized. Eh, what can you say? Your patient does appear to be Ionian, after all. Might as well get her themed clothing.

The fact that your strong and very vivid imagination said that she would look goddamn amazing in it has nothing to do with it.

You also got her a jacket, which is standard wear, and some long pants. You don't have long pants on you, and it was always a good idea to cover her le- Wait, she didn't have anything covering her legs, except for perhaps your blanket. Damn, she's definitely going to catch a cold like that.

Moving swiftly, you positioned yourself sitting next to her head, and gently moved her into a sitting position. This, however, meant that you had to touch her back, which is now completely exposed.

You've honestly never felt skin this smooth. And yet, it was also slightly bumpy and resistant to the touch – it was probably due to her having goosebumps from the cold, and, of course, the bruises that she had.

You gulp. You move your other hand to her stomach. Then, slowly, slowly, you propped her up, letting most of… well… most of the rags that she had left covering her body fall. This way, you wouldn't be tempted. No, you wouldn't be tempted at all.

_You had this brief urge to just flip to her front and just take a peek. A primal, sudden and spontaneous urge, to just take a look –_

That spasm passed. God, it's like one of those times when you stand on the edge of a cliff, and you get that urge to just jump down. And a lot of your body, mainly the area right between your thighs, really wants to see, and were getting _really really antsy and _

PLEASE get this over with, you pray.

You close your eyes, and took a normal shirt – your shirt, a clean, white, all-purpose shirt, and, _without opening your eyes OR facing the general direction of her body_, you grabbed her wrist and shoved it into the sleeve. You did the same with the other one, keenly aware of how smooth the skin of her back was against the fabric of your shirt. Sweat dripping down your face, you gently angled her head, taking great care to make sure that her head goes through the somewhat tight opening of the shirt in a gentle manner. But in doing so, you are able to see –

Her sideboobs.

They were every bit as smooth and round as he expected them to be, except for the slight scars, but the _imperfection is making this so hot. Why are you such a teenage boy. Why hormones. You hate them. You hate them so SO very much. You really don't want to notice how slender her arms were, even though there were strength in them, a kind of musculature that only a goddess would have. You didn't want to notice the way her waist came together to a perfect hourglass, completely proportional, adorned with soft skin, and even the way that the scars and bruises covered her only served to compliment, not tarnish… No, you have to stop-_

_Get this done, now, now, now-_

_NOT FAST ENOUGH, CMON._

You never before believed in cliché statements such as "every passing second is like an hour" or similar, but that's probably because you've never been in a situation where you mind and body actively wants to make every single second eternal. It's the hormones, probably. It's like your body is fighting to keep your arms slowed, to not push her head through, to lengthen the moment that you can stare at her scarred yet beautiful skin. And the more you do, the less you can resist the urge to grab her.

But there was an inner strength, an iron will that prevented you from doing so.

Because it was the discipline and honor of a young summoner.

You forced her head through the shirt, and then yanked the shirt to cover her chest and the rest of her body, then sighed in relief. As for her pants, you figured that the covers will have to suffice. There is no way you're going to resist the temptation from _those_.

Oh god, oh god, oh god…

Breathing heavily in relief, you slide down, away from your bed, and went away to your bathroom.

When you were done with your business of relieving, well, we'll just say, things –

Your patient still isn't awake. At least the soup is cooked, though. You rushed outside to get the soup, and then went back in. Luckily enough, during the entire time, the soup wasn't burnt or overcooked or was eaten by wild animals attracted by the scent.

You sit cautiously next to her, drawing up a chair (but first clearing it of its random growths of tree roots ) next to the bed. Because somehow, her sleeping face combined with how… _tight_… your shirt is against her chest, makes you _extremely_ careful with being near her for the next… say, entire twenty-four hours.

Is your heart supposed to be thumping this hard?

You don't really know.

* * *

><p>From here on, I'd like you people to provide the input. Where do I continue? What will we do with our sick, lovely vixen? Provide scenarios and stuff for me to continue with, please. I'll probably 'end' the fic, but that's no reason to stop suggesting, because I'm just going to write short section after section of short, fluffy drabbly things and insert them in between. I've provided the setting -<p>

Now, since it's, well, YOU, you're going to decide the story.

Enjoy!


	2. Chapter 2

Good news! You don't have to slag through so many words like last chapter now!

Also, the other news is that the chapters WILL get shorter and shorter as Ahri nears waking up. This is so that I can focus on the one-shot nature of the fic, which really is drabbles about a sick Ahri and a caring summoner, which is you. I'm actually going to end the fic early, and then take requests of short one-shot drabbles that I'll fit in between the fic ending and the Ahri waking up.

Some of you have mentioned that this should tie into Ahri's backstory, and I wish you weren't so perceptive of my future plans. :3

Also I won't be uploading next month (read: November) due to Nanowrimo.

Okay now go enjoy.

You fox-loving beauties.

* * *

><p>Okay, so you really messed up <em>this <em>time.

You forgot to feed her the soup. You stare at it mournfully, the now-freezing bowl sitting rebelliously in the corner of the now-rootless kitchen counter. It seemed to steam a little now and then, little wisps erupting from the bowl like some sort of spirit reminding you that you are a forgetful idiot, and that you're going to have to somehow feed an unconscious woman something that isn't soup.

You could always cook another one, you suppose, but then you'd have to trudge all the way back to town, because you're an idiot and you didn't think to buy more than one.

And the whole reason you forgot?

You were so busy cleaning up the fallout from your massively failed heal spell that you forgot to tend to your guest – patient –something, whatever, and simply collapsed on the floor, exhausted from pruning all the rampant wild growth tree roots. There, you realized exactly how tired your limbs and arms were, what with running to town and giving her clothes and pruning the iron-fused tree roots (because when heal spells go astray, they go astray with spectacularly bad results) and now you're just so tired that you couldn't think straight.

The fox-lady is occupying most of your mind at the moment, and thoughts of any other ladies, girls, women, were simply clouded by her form and face. You suspect in your young self that this is what a crush felt like, because it felt exactly like this when you saw this country's princess (well, the way she held herself and the way giant bulky warriors stand by her, you _assumed_ that she was a princess) walk by, with her bright smiling face and glossy, beautiful blonde hair.

The way that the light bounced off her form was quite exquisite.

Okay, so you're a sucker for pretty girls then. That bit's fine, after all, aren't all young men a sucker for pretty girls?

The not-fine bit is the bit where her face is starting to morph into that of your fox-girl patient.

This is strange, this is _really_ strange, and you're trying to think but you can't because cutting tree roots are hard enough, but working enough magic to reverse the growth and kill your furniture from the inside so that they become, you know, furniture again, now _that's_ completely exhausting and strains your already exhausted mind.

The summary is, you're really tired, you've forgot to feed your guest, and then you suspect her of working some sort of magic on you. Wow, you're such a douchebag to a dying, very pretty girl.

But this IS Valoran. If such a unique, nigh-unheard of creature – no, girl, that is – if such a unique girl were to suddenly pop up in front of your doorway, it would be _very_ strange if some sort of magic isn't involved. And this infatuation – and, just barely three hours after you've 'relieved' yourself, this hard-on – is very suspicious, as well.

You grab your basic summoning kit.

You're not going to summon anything. That's far beyond the capabilities of a young novice such as yourself. If you were that stuck-up prodigy Lee Sin, then maybe you'd try, but one of these days he's going to kill himself summoning things that are far beyond his current level. Instead, you grabbed a Magyk Wand.

To be perfectly clear, wands have been so far out of fashion that the only existing ones that can actually cast any sort of magic can only be found in the ancient ruins of the Shadow Isles. No wizard, magician, witch, even young girls claiming to be magical moon-warriors, _no one_, would be caught dead waving a magic wand and casting spells. They'd rather ignite themselves to death.

No, this is different. This wand acts as a kind of spoon.

There's a reason that, given the competitive nature of the League, that individual summoners – the younger ones, at any rate – don't try to blow each other up, at least not using magic. This is because magic can easily, _very_ easily, be traced. It is as if each personal summoner has his own magical fingerprint that, while can be replicated, would be _much_ too difficult of a hassle due to all the micro-magic that composed their spells. It would take someone like the Head Summoner or something to actually imitate someone's basic ignite spell, much less the much more powerful and complex spells like Teleportation and Spontaneous Combustion.

This wand is given to each summoner, especially the novice ones, to see which ones were dumb enough to cast spells at each other. They can scoop up residual magic – or even existing ones – and allows the summoner, with many complex vials and funny looking paraphernalia, and with actually very simple procedures, to determine to which summoner the offending spell actually originated from. But you don't need to find out _where _it's coming from. You just need to find out if it's there at all.

First though, you wave around the wand wildly like a madman. Green mist suddenly cottoned around your wand, and you're holding what might as well be mint candy in your right hand. God damn, did you fuck your heal spell up _that _bad that there's _this_ much magical residue?

You sigh. God, you'll never be an official summoner at this rate.

You then moved towards your sleeping patient, who you've been trying to avoid looking at for the past few hours. You feel something wriggle in your pants when you look at her, and gulp.

This can't be natural. You refuse that you go into this kind of trance every time you look at a pretty girl.

You wave your wand.

Slowly, a small, hazy pink mist, so thin that it might have been a veil, began to cluster around your wand. It was there, but the same way mosquitoes and gnat swarms exist: you'd have to stare at it, to actually focus at it, before it began to look… real. And inside, tiny, barely visible silver-brown flashes of lightning flashed, and might have been a stark contrast to all the pink mist if it weren't so… tiny.

As it was, you don't really have the knowledge required to determine what _kind _of spell that was. But there was no doubt that a spell of sorts, not of your magical signature – the tiny lightning made that clear – and above all, far more complex than anything that you can currently cast right now.

It's probably a charming spell of sorts, you thought to yourself. So your incessant obsession with the girl has some logical roots after all, and you sigh in relief.

You stare at her again. Even though you know that it's a spell, and might have been a façade, you can't help but think that she's still so very… beautiful. You should throw her out at this point, probably. You can't guarantee your own safety if you keep meddling in not just a fugitive magical girl. Who knows? It could be a ruse of hers to get you to help her for, well, let's face it – absolutely nothing!

But you can't think that way. You know where that kind of thinking goes – the kind of thinking where you help purely yourself and nobody else. You'll start losing trust in someone you're helping, and from there, you'll start to lose faith in society, in life, and everything becomes bleak and grim and depressing. It's, after all, what drove you away from home. And if you'll lose trust in someone because of a good reason, you'll do it for a bad reason. Even though this girl is suspicious, magical-based and potentially a crafty, murderous killer, you'll trust in the fact that she nearly died, and the fact that her distress is genuine.

You can't be logical about trust. It might not be the smart thing to do, but somewhere in your rugged heart, you feel like it's the right thing to do.

Sighing, you walk off to make another bowl of soup and see if you can't make her drink it a little bit.

And then you started walking to the bathroom again, for some other personal 'relief'. Trust or no, this magical stupid charm thing needs to go the fuck right off.

* * *

><p>There's some difficulty in being a nurse or a doctor, especially if the patient is unconscious, you think.<p>

First of all, there's already soup between her cleavage. That took a couple of more trips to the bathroom to manage, because you keep all your cloth there – it doubles as a storage room for your cloth material. And wiping it off her cleavage nearly drove you to a nervous breakdown. It was a good thing you've reached your 'limit' for the day.

Second of all, the little soup that you actually did manage to get inside her mouth usually gets dribbled out.

How the heck do you feed unconscious people, anyways?

Sighing, you place the bowl by the table.

You've actually set up a small workshop of sorts next to the bed. Wait, that's not true. It's more that you shoved the bed towards the direction of the kitchen table, and made it so that you can sit down next to her, in case she stirs, wakes up, or shows signs of life. It's been an entire day, but since her injuries were so severe when you saw her, you doubt that she's going to wake up anytime soon. Probably another two days. Then you really should call a professional doctor, fugitive or no.

You proceed to your own work. Patient or no, you still have homework. It sucks, and to be honest, you've been sort of using her as an 'excuse' to not tend to your homework, but you can't keep running away from the inevitable doom of the deadline. You might as well be trying to dodge the ground when you fall.

"_Over time, certain runes may begin to degrade in quality… by fusing five of the same kind together, it can create a higher quality… fusing two would result in one of the same grade…" _you mutter. And you had to memorize what types of runes do what. And what they're composed of. And…

And so many things.

God you hate homework.

"_So many people… a certain number of champions… naturally, some champions will… offer themselves up… come from all sorts of places, outlaw or no-"_

Hm.

You turn to look at your patient, whom is now gently breathing in and out in an audible manner, just on the edge of snoring.

Oh well, you think to yourself.

You carried on studying then.

It was around 3 AM, and around a day after you've rescued your patient. You were drooling, half-asleep among piles of goddamned homework when you heard a moan.

You woke drowsily. It was, as mentioned so many times before, a very tiring day. Your head feels flat. Your right arm, the one your slept on, was numb, and only the sensation of wet cheeks and wet hair managed to wake you up (you drool when you sleep, you find out). You were so sleepy that you nearly fell asleep again.

Then she moaned again, softly this time. _That _jarred you awake.

Afterwards, you wouldn't be able to describe the moan, much less replicate it, but it made a sound, that made your lips seem clumsy and foolish, that goes like a much higher-pitched version of "_nnnnn"._ Hearing it was enough to trigger the midnight wood, but it also meant that something is wrong with your patient. You go to check on her immediately afterwards, and found out from touching her skin and her lightly troubled – like a person caught in an uncomfortable, suffocating but not necessarily terrifying nightmare – visage, that she had a fever.

You don't have the first clue on _how_ she got it. And getting someone to swallow the medicine while unconscious…

Well, you're going to have to cure her the regular way, aren't you? Lots of sleep, warm stuff kept near her, and keeping her temperature up, that kind of thing…

It'll be a lot simpler and faster if she'd just not… be unconscious, but you're too scared of trying to rouse her, and just touching her is already a great mental strain on your brain. You don't just _touch_ a beauty like this.

Stupid auto-charm or not, you don't simply touch a beauty like her.

You dragged a spare blanket out of the laundry bin – not like you're using the bed anyways, not right now, hah – and draped it over her. Then, deciding that it wasn't enough – because you can still clearly see _some_ of her curves, which would keep driving you and your young, hormonal, overactive imagination crazy – you also laid down some jackets and random assortments of pants and other warm clothing that you can obtain.

She should be burning at this point, and she's already hot. Not just with the fever.

Heh.

Heheh.

God, you are _so_ tired at this point. You don't know what to do. You could sleep on the floor maybe? That sounds like a bad idea. Not that you have a choice.

Your body started throbbing, as well.

It may have been the exhaustion of staying up late, the exhaustion of all the homework, from all the cleaning up that you had to do, from taking care of your patient and the mental stress of dealing with who was a naked, beautiful lady, but your mind just snapped for a moment there. You entertain all sorts of delusions. The air tasted purple. The ground was yellow, even though you're not on ground. And you were laughing.

God you needed to relax. You were so stressed, you started laughing because you were helping someone.

Still giggling, your consciousness faded on the floor.

* * *

><p>You came to with a start. For starters, the side of your head <em>hurts<em>. The entire left side is throbbing, and your senses told your brain that your ear is flat. A _flat_ sensation, so to speak, is engulfing the entirety of the left side of your head. You can't really put it into words. It's the knowledge that the entirety of your left head feels completely flush with, say, a smooth floor.

With a second jolt, you realized that your entire body is practically numb. Pins and needles engulfed your arms and legs. You also realized that you've spent the night on the floor.

Full confirmation emerged around three seconds later, when you flopped to the right and tried to raise yourself to stand. You couldn't, because of how numb your arms are. They literally could not support your own weight – every time you try, it would just fold under its own weight and you would flop to the floor again.

Okay, maybe you'd actually be able to get up if you actually put an effort into getting up, but you're just really lazy and above all, still heavy-headed and tired. You want more sleep. On a damn bed.

You tried to glare somewhat resentfully at your bed, specifically, its inhabitant, but the lingering infatuation that you have with her combined with how heavy your head is made the glare a somewhat futile effort.

You're gonna need a mattress. A proper one. You could, you suppose, buy one from town, but you're trying to save up money – after all, allowances only came once a month, and this IS the end of the month…

It's not like you ever needed a second mattress anyways.

But maybe you can make your own mattress?

It's patchwork at best, and to be honest, you can't bear to think about what it is as its worst, not for the sake of your poor backside and side of your head. The sensation of sleeping on a hard wooden floor is something that someone needs to experience on their own. You can't describe it. It's just one of those things that you have to feel with your body to feel exactly how discomforting it is to have your entire body lie on something that actively pushes against it instead of forming around it, like a mattress would…

For around eight hours.

You started dragging out some spare blankets as the base, and then added a couple of more as an afterthought. Then you realized that it wouldn't work, because your blankets aren't as thick as you need a comfortable bed to be. So you tried to stack pillows in a square-ish shape instead, and then ran out of pillows before you can complete a rectangle large enough to support your body shape. To compensate for that, you folded the spare blankets in such a manner to form a pillow-ish shape to fill in the gaps.

Okay, now you have a bed-like shape.

Now all you need to do is to bind it together?

Distasteful as they were, the Zauns did create the Binder. With their extreme distaste of Zaun, Noxus, and anything that isn't generally themselves, the Demacians naturally seized shipments of the extremely useful Binder and relabeled it as Tape. You question the legality of it every day, and still buy it anyways. It's so handy when it comes to binding things together, like binding your paper to your walls so you can save space on your table while still looking at all the important graphs and stuff.

It's not really going to help you in this situation, though. You might need rope? Nah, that'll just make the bed uncomfortable to sleep on. Maybe if you use a metal base and – you don't even have a metal base, do you.

You could just try sleeping on it immediately, said your body. Get the rest that you and I both desperately need.

Your common sense said that given your tendencies to roll around in the bed, you're going to end up sleeping on the floor anyways.

Rope it is.

Some fifteen minutes later, you lie on a bed criss-crossed with rope. Lying on it was very uncomfortable, so you covered all the rope with a few layers of your last few blankets, and you finally managed to make the bed somewhat sleepable in.

Then the exhaustion took over.

* * *

><p>You wake up feeling… not well rested. Still tired, but the kind of tired that you get from sleeping at three in the morning and waking up at eleven. The 'normal' kind of tired.<p>

So at least your makeshift mattress sort of worked. On the other hand, your clock says that it IS three in the morning now, and your patient is…

Wasn't she having a fever beforehand?

You rushed over to her and crashed into your workshop, making paper fly. Luckily your ink is bottled, and knowing your clumsy hands, bottled with metal. It fell to the floor with a clang.

Gingerly, you touched her forehead, to find out that…

The fever neither intensified nor weakened. It simply remained static, the same as it was yesterday, and you sighed in relief. She's probably hungry, but given how little you can feed her at the moment…

Oh well. Not much to do then.

So you just sat on the edge of the bed and simply stared at her for a while.

There's still an irresistible charm to her, but put someone under the same charm for long enough and even the irresistible will one day become normal. You haven't quite reached that level yet, however, the strength of the spell has weakened on you enough for you to not go into a hormonal rage.

And now that the pink mist has diluted enough for you to actually look at her objectively…

She's odd, that's for sure. Her face isn't what you would call perfectly proportioned, but it gives her an exotic look that can only come from Ionia. High cheekbones, petite pointed chin, and large, rounded eyes. Also, the cheek markings are probably an unusual aspect of it. They were rough and feral, a far contrast to her… how would you say this… princess-like face.

You can't really call it anything else. It was as if she was of high blood, descended from a king or a noble or something, because it was a baby-smooth pearly skin that haven't seen a single day of work. And on them, feral markings, arranged like the whiskers of a cat or a… fox… and even then, they were far more savage and nature-like compared to its previous appearance of being soft and demure, almost ceramic in its beauty.

And she had the prettiest eyelashes, too. Delicate and soft, just like the soft fuzz of fur surrounding her fox ears. And you found that with the charm gone, they're still… hmm. You wouldn't say cute. Just endearing, somehow. Like a key to a lock, something that simply fits into her body, just like the tails. She wore it like a woman would normally wear clothes. The face supports it. The body supports it. Her curves support it, although you blush a little whenever your eyes strayed there.

And somehow, you found that this incarnation is far more beautiful than her charmed-up appearance. That was uncontrollable lust. But looking at her vulnerable form…

There's a genuine desire to protect something so beautiful.

It's a purer form of crush, you suppose, although it could always be the residual charm spell that's been left over. After all, there's no way the entire spell dissipated already.

Oh well.

You wanted to stay and share her company for a little bit longer, but you realize that the situation, and especially your inner thoughts, your inner narrative, that is, were turning into the thoughts of a stalker. Besides, you have to fix yourself a meal for the evening, maybe go to town and buy some more soup, because you should feed her _something_, after all. Heck, maybe you can buy something to make your makeshift mattress more comfortable.

So you take one last longing look at her beautiful face and form, and her soft golden eyes, and he-

Wait.

The soft golden eyes blinked. Then everything about her that you thought of just now vanished, only to be replaced with an enormous charm.

It was like the world folded into her. The affection that you had, tripled, no, quadrupled, and suddenly your chest became intensely tight, your breathing labored. Every single one of your muscles seized, because your brain was sending adrenaline through every vein in your body – only that it wasn't adrenaline, was it, because this wasn't flight or fight, you just want to tackle her with your body and never let go… That feeling when everything in the world went soft and pink and at the same time sharp-edged and intense, so intense, when you can literally feel the air molecules brush at your skin and –

The yellow eyes, presumably out of exhaustion, closed again.

Her hands went limp. You didn't even notice that they were clenched or tense to begin with. Speaking of hands, you didn't know that your own hands were clenched as well. It was as if every single molecule of your body had gone on alert mode just a second ago, and you didn't realize it.

But that… that was intense.

Too intense.

You're going to have to learn some sort of shield to this spell, before she wakes up.

_And you should probably be quick about it._

* * *

><p>THAT'S ALL THERE IS FOLKS<p>

IT'S NANOWRIMO

YOU WON'T SEE AN UPDATE FOR THE NEXT MONTH BECAUSE I'LL BE WRITING 50,000 WORDS FOR NOVEMBER

BOOOY OH BOOOY I DON'T THINK I CAN DO THIS BUT PLEASE

WISH

ME

LUCK

EDIT: I'M DONE, NEW CHAPTER'S UP IN CASE YOU DON'T KNOW. THANKS FOR STICKING THIS FAR - well, it's really only two chapters...


	3. Chapter 3

HAPPY NEW YEARS AT LEAST ITS NEW YEARS IN MY TIME HI OKOK BYE

HAVE THIS FIC I WROTE IT WITH BADNESS IM SORRY. I PLANNED IT FOR CHRISTMAS BUT CAN'T FINISH IT ITS HARD MKAY

OKAY SEE YOU LOVELY PEOPLE.

* * *

><p>So it's been, like, what. Probably two hours.<p>

And you know, most people don't learn spells in a mere two hours, but you kind of really need it. And even the learning process was very quickly becoming problematic for you.

It's not only the fact that learning high level spells are inherently difficult. It's also because of the fact that, well, you don't really have a sort of pressure bearing down upon you. Yeah, sure, you desperately need the spell to shield yourself from some sort of magical enchantment that's still permeating the room _at this very moment_. But you don't know when your patient is going to wake up and bring the charm to full power. So you don't really have the pressure of a deadline bearing down upon you.

Hey, don't judge yourself. No, stop doing that. Making blatantly illogical excuses is all part of the learning process. It's a level six spell that you're learning after all. And maybe they _did_ bump it down to a level two spell, but you see, aha, you never had formal training when it comes to practicing this spell, so –

You sigh and collapse on the ground. It's the natural pose of all despairing student and scholar.

It's the pose of utter defeat and exhaustion.

Even now, you can feel your patient waking up. There was a sort of difference in the breathing that you can hear from across beyond the walls of your bookshelves. Yes, your shack may only have a single room, but you've manage to barricade yourself by moving the heavy shelves into a sort of wall that divided the room into your bedroom and the kitchen. Unfortunately, it also meant covering most of the door, but you could deal with that.

What you can't deal with is your patient. Ever since her condition got better – ever since the first time you saw her open her beautiful yellow eyes, that is, the charm that surrounded her passively had grown even stronger. You used to be able to not stare at her drooling. Now, just to maintain your focus on other more important subjects, you had to block her view with a large amount of bookshelves.

The worst part is, a part of you _wanted_ to do that again. To stare at her for hours at end. To walk over to her bed and just ravish her there and then, and god knows, she'd probably want it. She's the kind of creature that's meant to seduce men, isn't she? Even her outfit –

You saw a flesh-colored blur travel past your eyes and into them, and you woke with a start from your daydreams. Your lower body parts may or may not be extremely aroused, as well. You sigh.

Whatever you do, you're not going to stoop to that level. No matter the enchantment and her fox ears, and the fact that she's clearly a magical being of a high level, she's a lady, and as much as you love her body, you're not even sure if you'd love _her_. That right there was your deal-sealer. You've been taught by your father the _second_ you first learnt of the word 'sex' and 'fuck' to never do it unless you really love the person, and that person loves you back.

It's a stupidly moral thing to believe in. It is, in fact, possibly the only reason why every other summoner gets invited to the parties that you don't get into. Of course, it might also be your lack of intellect. That might be it, also. The point is, you outright refuse to fall into temptation to go do _things_ with your patient…

Which brings back the spell problem.

The exact spell that you were trying to learn is called Cleanse. It's a spell normally used on champions when you summon them to solve political disputes via glorious battles on the fields of justice. Normally, the only effect that it had was to remove all debilitating effects on your partnered champion, or so you read. However, he had also read that the effect of summoner spells grows exponentially weaker the farther the caster was away from the target*. You'd read that a platinum-throned summoner once cast an ignite spell in the middle of a forest due to his debilitating fear of the dark. The fireball was reportedly seen all the way in Bandle City, nearly three thousand miles south.

Here, the spell should likely create a sort of shield to protect you from the debilitating effects of the charm and allow you to focus on your studies and chores and other things. More importantly, it would help you take care of your patient more easily. It was difficult enough to spoon soup into her unconscious mouth under the effect of the charms, but now that she's beginning to regain consciousness, you highly doubt that you can keep your cool while doing so. Lately, you've even been thinking of the word spooning more and how nice it would be to do with her.

It was the tails that snapped you out of the trance, strangely enough. It would be kind of difficult to spoon with a large amount of fur between your bodies, although it would probably be a strange experience.

You shake your head. You probably should really stop distracting yourself with needless thoughts like those. You *must* complete the cleanse spell. And to remind yourself why….

You take a deep breath. Gods, you really don't want to do this – or do you? Maybe you really do, after all. There's a part of your body that said that you should do it. Look at her. Glance at her beautiful form. Marvel at her curves and at her perfect face, and then touch it, admire it…

It's getting progressively harder to ignore these voices. They weren't even in your own mind's voice. It was a different kind of voice, a seductive, soft voice, which made your head go hazy pink and the world to feel warm and strangely uncomfortable.

Sighing, you try to return to the task at hand. But you couldn't. The distraction was too much.

No, no, you refuse to go wank off.

Now, you _could_ call for help, you suppose, but there's a sixth sense holding you back from getting help. You suspect that most males that would come across this lady would not be brought up to be even half as mannered as you are, and thus would attempt to rape her on the spot. In addition, the women half of society would scold you for the sorry state of the lady and the terrible clothing you put on her, _or_ stab her right on the spot out of jealousy. Maybe someone with magical inclinations would learn to recognize and resist the charm better.

You kind of wished that you had a better social life back at the summoner's school, but oh well.

You're going to try another thing, then.

It's makeshift, but it's probably the only talent that you have.

Ever since you were a small child, you have learnt to do things via overly analytical imitation. That means that you take a look at your father mowing the lawn, comes up with several hypotheses about how the lawn was mowed, why would he need to mow the lawn, why did he do the movements necessary to mow the lawn, and other such things.

It just so happens that one of your favorite champions was a fallen angel who learned how to shield spells.

It is by no means a cleanse spell, and you know that even attempting it could probably be disastrous. A champion's signature ability is often a unique spell in the sense that mere mortals like yourself could not even begin to try and replicate it. Or at least, so does the story go. In a more practical sense, yes, certain spellcasters have larger affinities towards a certain school of spellcasting, such as Lee Sin and his affinity towards summoning, but not copying spells from others is more of a matter of pride. They prefer to have an identity, a flash spell that the books would have to name after them, if they ever got there.

So in theory, despite Morgana being a dark angel from a different dimension that you'd never really bothered to look at, because, well, you never really got past the bare midriff and just-so-open cleavage – well, you should be able to replicate her spellshield.

It might work. In theory.

You take a deep breath, closed your eyes, and summon arcane energies and marshal it to your will. Visualizing a shield that surround you, you attempt to create a sphere around yourself, a sphere of selfishness that rejects everything else that isn't already in it. It would be a cage that would reject every magic other than its own. It should work, if only you could imagine it properly…

You open your eyes.

There was a hovering cage of yellowish snot. Your ingrained magic color was yellow, and you attempted to erect a black shield…

Oh dear…

Well, at least it appears to work, even though it looks like utter shit. You couldn't think of a more disgusting looking color. It was like vomit mixed with pus. Even looking at it made some internal part of his stomach shrivel and die.

You let the spell die. Let's do this scientifically, you thought to yourself.

We're going to test this one by one, you think. So first, we're going to let the spell fail…

You dropped your concentration, and the yellowish puke shield dropped. You now stand in the midst of a room filled with papers and books scattered all over the floor. There was a small slit in between the bookshelves – they lead to the part of the house that had the kitchen in it. It wasn't originally this way, you only had a single room to begin with, but with the damned patient regaining consciousness and her magic getting stronger, you had to create the second room just to resist your urges.

Honestly, it's not fair that you had run into the one magical fox that made your urges go insane. It's not fair for anyone, but it's not like you care. You just lost a lot of time that you could've done doing homework OR resting OR any other sort of enjoyable activities by having to tend to the girl. She'd better damn well be grateful.

You try _very_ hard to not think about the implications of the word _grateful_. You try to instead redirect the energy to recreating your spell.

Forming a similar frame around your mind, you attempt to create the spell again, and made a few changes to the framework, hopefully enough to remove the black colorings and make it a purely yellow shield –

Well, that didn't turn out so well. You let the spell fail, and returned to the original framework.

The original framework worked out fine, it seems. You can relax on that count, at least.

*Flash spells were practically teleport spells when outside of summoner's rift. And that's not even getting to the dirty little things summoners get to see with high level clairvoyance spells. It was said that Janna Windforce and Sona room had to be magic-proofed nearly ten times over. Pictures of their bodies still littered the underground market. As for Miss Sarah Fortune, well, _her_ pictures stopped circulating several years ago, partially because she never really cared about being seen in the nude in the first place. 'Makes it easier for all the bad men to find me,' she quipped once.

You return to making some lunch, because you were hungry from all the magical experimenting.

At the same time, however, you weren't so hungry, because your brain was awash with the happiness of triumph from creating your new creation. Not many summoners would be able to do this. Admittedly, that was because copying the spell of anyone else is considered poor taste, but you always preferred practicality over taste.

* * *

><p>The sandwich that you ended up making was more or less two sloppy pieces of breads with mayonnaise and some ketchup on it. You're not really sure if you even put meat on it, and that should have disgusted you, but you're really past the point of caring. You tentatively put your lips to the sodden creation and found that it was pleasing to your delirious brain. You didn't want to look in the mirror. That might frighten the life out of you.<p>

Let's review your life, shall we?

You were doing homework normally, until a point where a sexy fox-lady fell in front of your house, at which point you take her in and take care of her. At this point, her magical aura entranced you, and you had to resist your urges so hard that… well…

You sigh. No matter how you size it up, it doesn't make sense. It's the kind of things that only happen in bad stories…

And yet it does make sense, because it's happening right in front of you at the same time. It's a bad story because you're going through it. You're experiencing all the bad parts – the pain in your crotch, for starters, and all the exhaustion and delirium and the feeling of your head buzzing with magical formulae. Yes, the circumstances were bizarre and odd, perhaps, but given that life throws all sorts of strange things your way on a daily basis – like the existence of magic, for starters – it's not really all that bizarre.

God, you're trying to even _normalize_ your situation now.

You finish the soggy sandwich in a state of philosophical existential calm. Must be some really good mayonnaise you put on it.

Well, what do you do now? You could do your homework, and that's been pending for a while. You could try to rouse your patient and hope that the magical aura that appears to charm the people that stands around her don't fry your brains. You could try making another sandwich, because you were starving, and that's exactly what you decide to do. You can _never _go wrong with more food.

You put another layer of the philosophical mayonnaise and made sure to actually put the steak in.

Also, how did she come to be in such a state, anyways? Different scenarios begin to slowly pop up in your mind. She could have wandered too close to a group of large, angry, and most importantly, sexually frustrated men, and her mere presence could have triggered it. You highly doubt that it was the case, however, given how magically potent she is. You'd bet your entire university funds that she would have more tricks than simple charming seduction.

Speaking of charming seduction, could she have seduced the wrong person? You've already read a little on mind-altering spells, and they simply cloud your perception of the world and simulate the circumstances of anger. A rage spell would simply heighten your perception of things that makes you angry about a certain situation, it wouldn't work if the target was inherently (and completely) pacifistic. The same could be said of a char-

But the scenario didn't really work out either. Yes, she could have tried to seduce someone, but it's highly doubtful that anyone that wasn't a high-class magician would be able to resist her. It could be that a jealous wife sent soldiers, whom happened to be of the female persuasion, to chase her down for grievous adultery towards her husband or something like that, which might render them immune to charms. That wasn't how charms work, however. The real reason why most students study a great deal regarding mind control spells was, to be completely and utterly honest, the desire to marshal their own harem of hot ladies (or men) using said spells. It wasn't unheard of for female sorceresses to have their own female harem.

You're very sure that you've lost track of whatever you were thinking about originally, as you chomp down the last few bits of the existential mayonnaise in the soggy (but actually meaty) sandwich.

What now? You can't really eat anymore, not due to a lack of appetite but mostly due to a lack of food in the house. You could go buy more food. You could do homework.

You could see what your foxy, sexy patient is up to while sleeping.

You sigh. But you should really get to feeding her. It was around five hours since she last ate, after all. You didn't really feed her all that much.

You waved an arm, and a pot of water filled itself with water. Then you pointed at it languidly.

Around two minutes and a lot of floor-scrubbing and hasty attempts to save your homework later, you vaguely wondered how you managed to burn water. Just another skill to add to your list of special skills.

You sigh, and you made soup the traditional way, where you heat the water using traditional means and had to wait for an equivalent traditional long time.

You return to your patient.

She was still, as per usual, extremely, extremely beautiful. And you were the usual. Extremely, extremely, pressured by the urge to just take her in your arms. And then take her elsewhere. Depending on the context of 'take'.

Her pose had changed. She used to be sleeping face up, but now she had shifted to hug your bolster, laying down on the side of her body and subsequently drooling all over your bolster. It might look disgusting and sound disgusting, but the charm had you in its thralls, and you didn't think it looked so bad. After all, _you_ drool in your sleep, you'd be a massive hypocrite if you condemn others for drooling while you sleep. You kind of really wished that you were that bolster. She was cradling it so tenderly, even in her sleep. You wondered how it would have felt to be cradled so gently like that. Memories of touching her skin from two days ago resurfaced in a frightening rush of speed and collided with your imaginations of being cradled by your beautiful patient.

You try to clear your head, and failed completely. Instead, you dragged yourself into the other room as fast as you can, and then collapsed at the foot of the bookshelf.

Okay, okay, let's try and put that new spell to work, you thought.

"For the love of god, why does she have to be so beautiful," you mutter. It was a clumsy line, clunky, and completley but what else are you supposed to say?

You close your eyes and put up the spell array. The now more familiar yellow-black puke shield arced over your head.

You walked into the room, and the thoughts of sexual interaction, while still there, was noticeably less powerful. They weren't overpowering the rest of your thoughts, such as those for the well-being of your patient. Well, it's not like you should worry about it, at the time being.

At the moment, her breathing had stabilized, and she no longer had a fever. You take that as a good sign. A very good sign. You returned to the other room and fetched the bowl of soup, and then tentatively dipped a spoon into the bowl, and held it up to her open mouth. You trickled it in, making very sure that she wouldn't choke on it from the angle that you held her head at. You marveled at the efficiency of the Black Shield replica. At this point, you would probably went ahead and kiss the open mouth under the influence of the unconscious charm. Right now, the base desire was still, as always, existent, but it was a more normal base desire. It was like holding a beautiful woman's head and having the stray thought of kissing her, or being on the edge of a cliff and having the stray thought of jumping off.

She dribbled out most of the soup, but you note that it looked as if she swallowed a little bit of it. Encouraged, you trickle a little bit more of it into her mouth.

She flickered, opened her eyes, and swallowed the rest of the soup, and nearly the spoon in the process. It clattered out of your shocked hand.

There was an oppressive feeling of _gravitation_ for a moment. For a short moment, the world appeared to distort towards her, and you kept your wits about you just for this moment. It was as if there was a sudden natural urge to fling yourself – not to mention everything else – towards the beautiful amber pool that was her eyes. It wasn't a pleasant feeling. It was terrifying, at least to the parts of your mind that was still thinking –

Then your black and yellow shield simply shattered.

The oppressive gravitation disappeared.

You went down to one knee. This was normal, wasn't it? Kneeling is common practice to queens, and the girl in front of you was obviously a queen. And not just any normal queen. She was beautiful. You're not even looking at her, out of fear that she might smite you due to showing disrespect, but you could picture her in your mind's eye, a raven-haired ivory beauty of perfect proportions, lying on her sides, exposing perfectly smooth legs and a hand lying teasingly near her stomach, while the other would support her weight.

There was a voice that cut through the haze. "I'm not dead," it muttered in disbelief. It was a clear, flute-like voice, padded with silk and pillows and lulls anyone that heard it into a sense of comfort. Without realizing it, you smiled the dopiest smile of your life.

There was a slight rustling. The figure turned to you. "Did you save me?" it asked, in the sweetest voice you've ever heard possible.

Unconsciously, you nodded.

There was a very soft hand on your head, and it was patting your head.

It pat your head lightly at first, like a master would reward a pet. You purr and nuzzle against it.

That was what was the center of your brain was registering. Elsewhere, somewhere near the far edges, just on the edge of consciousness, alarm bells were ringing.

The hands that was supporting your weight began to sink. Your legs, folded up underneath your body, began to tremble some more, and caved. The energy that was keeping your body upright weakened slightly, then bolstered, as you try to nuzzle against the hand that was petting you even more. You try to open your eyes, only to realize that you can't. This was happening around the edges of your consciousness.

Most of your brain was really, really caught up in the softness of her pats and the smooth texture of her fingers ruffling her hair.

Your vision was black, although you didn't really need vision to get patted by your beautiful mistress, so you didn't exactly minded it. After all, this way, it's easier to imagine her smiling face when you're looking at the inside of your eyelids –

The last vestiges of strength left your body, and you collapse on the floor, gasping and spluttering. The world felt heavier, as if you were swimming in molten lead – yes, molten, you felt a strange heat rise up throughout your body. You open your eyes, although even that took a lot out of you.

There was no longer a charming aura around the fox-lady. She was completely normal – well, still extremely pretty, but no longer so supernaturally charming, instead coming off as 'just' a beautiful ionian lady whom happened to have fox-ears and nine, lustrous tails, which pointed at him menacingly. The lady herself was supporting herself on your former bed, on your knees just like you are. Most strikingly, her yellow eyes never left yours. They were the eyes of a predator. Once locked on, they probably wouldn't let go.

Underneath the yellow eyes, you dimly note that she had been red-faced. Apparently rising out – no, slumping out of your bed – had took her some great effort.

The two of you stare at each other for a while – you, the exhausted summoner on the floor, her, the entrancing fox-lady exhausted and barely standing.

She broke the silence first.

"Lucky day for you, wizard," she half- purred, half-panted. "I was unable to drain you fully."

You simply stare numbly at her. You _need_ to focus all of your energy into breathing if you want to stay conscious. Or living, for that matter.

"I wonder if it was because I lacked my own… power, after being nearly dead, or if it was because of your own mental strength… although I think we could agree that it was likely because you yourself didn't have much left to drain anyways," she continued.

You still stay silent. Breathing isn't an easy job.

"We've reached an impasse, wizard… well, judging from your sloppy spellwork, wizard-in-training," she purred. "Now, what will you do? Shall you perhaps turn me to the authorities? Slay me myself? Or perhaps…"

She tugged gently at her neckline. Boobs bouncing don't make a sound, but your brain registered it as one.

"Perhaps you might keep me as your slave? Hmm? You'll –"

She broke off, and coughed. Might be an understatement there – she practically retched on the floor, and your tired eyes thought that they saw a little bit of blood leaving it. She disappeared from your vision as she collapsed to the floor, same like you did. There was wheezing noises.

There was silence for a good minute, and for another minute following it. In that time, you recuperated. Just enough to regain control of your limbs, at least. You forced yourself up on your knees.

The fox-lady was on the floor, propping herself up with an elbow. She stared at you in anger and contempt, breathing heavily. She appeared to be suffering heavily from exhaustion.

"I can't drain you," she muttered. "I don't know why. You're shielded, maybe, or you're stronger than you look… I'm weak, I'm weak, and now I'm dead…"

You stare at her blankly. Right now, words went into one ear and shot straight out of the other. You don't have the energy to try and comprehend them.

She stared at you. "Well? Hurry it up, wizard. Your kind made me, your kind will end me... I could try draining you again. You would die. I would live. I don't even have the mana to drain you..."

There were more blank stares from your end. You can't think. You're too tired to think. Sleep is nice. Sleep is good. At some point in your life, you would remember this time, and say that you were the exact opposite of any hero, many of which who you've tried to emulate (and at some point much later on, become). No hero would sleep in the face of danger, unless that danger happens to inflict sleepiness upon you at which point the person would retire permanently due to death, or far worse fates. No hero would let exhaustion get the better of him at a critical moment though.

But hey. You're not a hero.

The world went dark, and you collapsed.

* * *

><p>You open up your eyes. Consciousness came to you slowly, then suddenly in a flash. Your body was telling you that you – and it, by extension – were in danger.<p>

The fox girl was still on her knees in front of you, but with one finger pointed at your face. Also a smirk on her face, as well.

A quick glance to your left AND right reveal that little purple fire spirits were hovering around you. You don't move, not that you really wanted to.

"I won't kill you," she purred. "I still need your very, very –" and here, her voice dripped with extreme sarcasm – " _kind_ care to fully recover my strength. And we both know that you'd likely say no, you wouldn't want to do that, but unfortunately for you, I have a twitchy trigger finger in case you're thinking of doing anything bad to me."

She paused, then winked tiredly at you. "Of course, I may allow certain _bad_ things to happen to me…"

You gingerly nod your head. You were scared of the moving spirit fire that was still circling your head, but one by one, they flickered out, except for one last on-

It bumped into your chin. Electricity surged to your body, and you dropped limp to the ground again. This has been becoming someone of an old, tired habit to you at this point.

"Also, even if you try to kill me, authorities will catch up to me at one point. You would be executed under Demacian law, you know, found with a dead body near you."

The paralysis wore, just slightly. "What did you do?" you stammer out.

"Something." She turned her back to you. "Maybe if you were a good enough… _pet_… then maybe, just maybe, I'll tell you… and your old life back, with it. So what do you say? Maybe you can help me out, mmm?"

* * *

><p>No, I'll end it here, I ran out of time, it's New Year's already and I planned this for CHRISTMAS.<p>

I DID THE 50,000 WORDS, I SUCCEEDED, IT'S JUST THAT I COULDN'T WRITE FOR TWO WEEEKS AFTER IT DUE TO THE INJURIES ON MY FINGERS I'M SORRY.

I'M SORRY FOR THE SHITTY QUALITY OF THIS SHIT TOO.

HAPPY NEW YEARS. MAYBE I'LL MAKE THINGS BETTER.

IDK.

ALSO.

I think I'll be posting two continuations: one, where you (try to) kill ahri, which is, let's be honest. The thing that you should do. You don't really try to help someone when they have you at gunpoint or just tried to kill you. Also, writing the ending to this fic in the most non-cheesy possible way was also part of what took me so long to write this thing, and I didn't even manage to come up with a satisfying ending. I'm sorry.


End file.
